


the sun rising late hasn't set yet

by likewinning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M, i wrote this so long ago i forgot which season it's supposed to be post but probably 5?, post-series or whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:12:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: "drinks aside, it's time we tried to stay somewhere."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sun rising late hasn't set yet

When Sam comes back for the last time, there's dirt under his nails and he looks older than Dean remembers, eyes like he hasn't slept in years. Dean's been on a job in Arkansas, clearing up some rumor of a werewolf in town. There's blood on his clothes, some poor bastard's heart spilled on the cuffs of his jeans, and when he gets back to the hotel, Sam's just. Standing there, like he never left.

Dean doesn't touch him. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't breathe or blink, like if he does he'll wake up.

It's stupid, thinking that. When Dean dreams, if he dreams at all, it's never like this.

If he dreams, there are two paths his mind will take. In one, Sam is in hell, screaming and suffering and crying out for him. Afterward, Dean stays up for days at a time. In the other, Sam is younger, headstrong, gangly-armed and defiant but still sure, beneath everything else, that Dean can keep him safe from whatever comes their way.

Fact of it is, Dean doesn't sleep much at all.

In the hotel, bad paint job and the smell of cigarettes and Dean's bags all packed and ready to go, Sam says his name once, and the spell doesn't break. If Dean's asleep, he doesn't wake up.

"Can we get out of here?" Sam asks then, and Dean knows like he'll know every part of a car, every Zeppelin song ever recorded until the day he dies (and stays dead), that it's really him. That the ache in his bones hasn't carried into his sleep, and Sam's right here.

When he finally moves, he moves quickly, grabbing every part of Sam he can reach, one hand in Sam's hair and his fist curled around his ratty t-shirt shuts his eyes and breathes and breathes until he feels Sam breathing against him, heart beating impatiently against his, like he's been waiting just as long as Dean has.

Of course he has.

His mouth opens Dean's and they stay that way until Dean's lungs burn, well past needing air, and still he doesn't wake up. He looks at Sam and he thinks about saying _welcome home_ , thinks about cursing him out, about asking all the questions any hunter worth their salt would want to know.

But he doesn't. Sam's whole again, parts in the right place, dirt under his nails and eyes bloodshot and hair still too goddamn long, but a smile on his face like Dean hasn't seen in years. Dean doesn't say anything, anything at all, but, "Let's get out of here."


End file.
